Sort Itself Out
by The Atomic Cafe
Summary: MacStella, mentions of MacPeyton. There were too many victims in the hospital, too many friends.


**Sort Itself Out**

**By Dimgwrthien**

_Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY or affiliates._

Mac turned over in bed, breathing in the smell of the pillows deeply. They still smelled like shampoo from his shower just an hour or two earlier. He was almost asleep, just a few minutes away from it. His eyes already drooped shut of their own accord and his breathing slowed down.

An arm snaked around him. "Mac?"

He turned, glancing at Peyton's thin face, her eyes still open. She wore the purple nightgown that he had grown used to seeing her in.

"You're bleeding," she whispered.

Mac touched a hand to his neck, feeling a warm spot on the bandage from the bombings earlier that day. He used his clean arm to push himself up in the bed to get out. Peyton followed him into the bathroom. Mac already had the bandage off, seeing the wet blood. He pulled a washcloth off of one of the railings, wetting it and wiping away at the blood.

Peyton took the cloth from his hands and wiped it for him. Mac glanced sideways at her. "You get a bandage."

He reached to the side of the bathroom counter where he had set out a few of the medical gauzes. He unwrapped one and held it, ready to cover the wound. Peyton continued to clean it.

"I can't believe this happened." Peyton stopped wiping, letting Mac cover it again. "A bombing…" She shook her head slowly.

Mac secured the bandage. "At least the injuries were minimal. Not as many deaths as we expected. Flack should be out of the hospital sometime. I know he can't stay like that for long. He's strong."

Peyton wrapped her arms around his shoulders, forcing his head against her bare shoulder. Mac squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to bring up any images of Flack in his mind. He had spent too many hours in the hospital, waiting for some sort of update that never came. His eyes burned from staying awake.

"You hate hospitals, don't you?" she asked.

_Of course_, Mac thought. _Every time I go, someone seems to die. _He shook his head, not wanting to bring up the topic.

Peyton didn't move for a second, seemingly thinking it over. "I thought you would be. You just stayed there with an unconscious man… You mentioned one of your team member's brothers being in a coma… When you had to investigate Stella's crime scene… Then you told me about staying in the hospital with Claire…." She had gone on slowly, whispering each occasion. Mac clenched his jaw at each of them, and at Claire, he pulled away.

He had spent the entire day with her. Once he realized what had happened, he tried to find her, only to be told she was already at the hospital. He sped the entire way there, swerving past cars that had stopped to see the damage done. And there, at the hospital, was Claire, broken and bloodied. Mac had spent the time with her, memorizing each detail of her face, holding her hand as long as he could, until the machine let go.

Peyton continued to look at Mac with concern written on her face. "You alright?"

Mac nodded and kept a hand against his neck. "Yeah. I'm not tired, though. I'll be taking a walk if you need me, alright?"

The woman frowned. "Do -"

"No. I'm fine." Mac gave her a forced smile and kissed her cheek. "I'll be back soon."

As he made his way to the door, he grabbed a pile of his clothes. It took him a moment to realize it was his shirt and sweatpants from when he had gone running that morning. He put them on quickly, grabbed his keys, and left.

The air outside was too cold, and Mac only then remembered that he should have found a jacket. He gritted his teeth, breathing in the cool air, and walked down the block. Once he reached the corner there, he paused, glancing around. Streetlights lit his way. Mac sighed and kept on walking down another block, following the straight road. Not many cars were on the road.

After a few minutes of walking, Mac found himself in front of another apartment building. It wasn't surprising, considering the amount of buildings in the city. What he found strange was that it was Stella's.

Ignoring the time, Mac entered the building and up the elevator.

Once he knocked on the door, Stella opened it, glancing out at him. "Mac?" she asked, and he saw that she was wearing a tank top and pajama pants. "If you're calling me on duty, my cell phone's on -"

He shook his head. "No, we're both off-duty. I just -" Mac bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm sorry. I'll -"

"Come in." Stella opened the door wider, letting Mac inside. Mac took a few steps into the room, letting her shut and lock the door. "What's up?"

Mac had always been careful not to mention Peyton around any of his team. Now wasn't the time to start, nor to explain his discomfort hearing about bad hospital experiences. "It's been a long day," he told her, keeping as close to the full truth as he could.

She moved over to the couch, sitting on her folded legs. Mac sat next to her. "It has been. Can't sleep?"

He shook his head.

"We've been in there too many times." Stella leaned forward slightly, bringing herself closer to him. "Everyone seems to be having trouble lately. I just can't believe Flack got it this badly."

Still not talking, Mac nodded.

"What's wrong?" Stella asked, her voice lighter and quieter. "It's not Flack you're thinking about, is it?" Mac shook his head, and Stella reached out, grabbing him and leaning him against her shoulder. She kept one hand on his shoulder and the other on the uninjured side of his neck. She was pleasantly warm and her cotton shirt was soft. Mac let Stella hold him down.

"What's going on?" she asked him in a whisper.

Mac rubbed his forehead, surprised at how cold his skin felt. "How many times have we visited someone in the hospital?"

Stella seemed to think it over. "I'm not sure, to tell you the truth. Probably over a hundred. Are you trying to take count?"

Mac forced a smile. "Curiosity."

She started stroking a hand through Mac's short hair. The gesture comforted him.

"You can't change fate, so you have to make the best of what you have," Stella whispered, and Mac knew that she understood where his mind was. There were too many victims in the hospital, too many friends. There was Claire. Louie Messer. Don Flack.

"What do you to getting over there and visiting him?"

Mac glanced at Stella and considered it. He nodded and moved enough for her to stand up.

"Let me just get dressed." She bent again, giving him a tight hug and whispering, "Things will sort themselves out in the end."


End file.
